


Now You See Right Through Me

by nerdytardis



Series: That One Werewolf AU [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Hurt Illya, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6462766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdytardis/pseuds/nerdytardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Napoleon and Illya are kidnapped, some secrets are exposed that threaten to destroy everything they care about most. </p><p>Or, Napoleon is the most emotionally repressed man on the planet and Illya is a werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now You See Right Through Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arose7575](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arose7575/gifts), [moderatelybowling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moderatelybowling/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a short and fun werewolf!Illya fic, but somehow it became this? I have no idea what happened, but I really like what it ended up as. [shrug emoji] 
> 
> Written for my two best friends <3  
> The title is from "Goodbye in Her Eyes" by Zac Brown Band.  
> This is unbeta'd as always, so sorry for any mistakes.  
> Thanks for reading!

Napoleon woke up with the sadly familiar feeling of being in pain.  His shoulder in particular felt like was on fire, but everything else was just his normal level of bruised and uncomfortable, for the time being anyway. 

He didn’t open his eyes at first and kept his breathing even so that he could assess the situation unnoticed and without some annoying villain monologue.  There was heavy rope tied around his chest, and his hands and feet were bound to the chair. 

For a second, he couldn’t remember how he had ended up here, but then the coppery taste of blood brought it flooding back. 

He had been walking back to the hotel with Illya, and since they had been trying to stay low-profile for this mission, they had been avoiding the front entrance.  As they turned down the alley that led to the back door, someone had started firing at them. 

He had tried to find cover but was immediately overwhelmed by a big guy dressed in all black.  In the struggle, his lip was split and the taste of blood had flooded his mouth.  Before darkness filled his vision completely and he passed out, he was able to catch sight of Illya, struggling to pull his gun when someone else fired a shot and-

Napoleon opened his eyes and saw Illya tied up opposite him with a poor excuse for a bandage wrapped around his abdomen, and let out a tense breath.  As long as Illya was still breathing, there was a chance that they would both get out of here. 

“How are you holding up Peril?”

The Russian groaned and shifted as much as he could in the seat, rolling his head up to look at Napoleon. 

“I’ve seen worse,”

Napoleon huffed and spit out some blood.  

Illya seemed to realize for the first time how Napoleon looked, staring at his bloody face.  “You are hurt,”

“Yeah,” Napoleon said, rolling his eyes, “says the guy bleeding out from a gunshot in his side,”

It didn’t seem possible for someone in his position to give such a deadly glare, but Illya somehow still managed to pull it off.  Napoleon was about to send off another snappy reply, when the door to their cell flew open. 

In stepped a woman who they both recognized instantly: it was their mark, a giant in international arms market.  They had been trying to avoid her all month, but it was now obvious that all the sneaking had been in vain. 

“Hello boys, glad to finally meet you face to face,” she sneered, “Though I do have to say, I thought you were going to put up at least a little bit more of a fight,”

“So sorry to disappoint,” Napoleon replied, plastering on a smile that never reached his dark eyes. 

Her gaze racked very unceremoniously up and down Napoleon’s body for a moment, before she clapped her hands together, “Oh you’re going to be a fun,”

Illya grunted and grabbed her attention, but not for long.  She grabbed a rag from a nearby table and wrapped in around Illya’s head and shoved the gag in his mouth, even has he thrashed and tried to push her away. 

“You, my fine Russian friend,” she said, leaning into his face, “Aren’t much use to me right now,” She then tapped her finger against his head, “And anyway, I don’t think there’s really much going on up there,”

Napoleon struggled in his restraints, his blood boiling, as Illya glared at the woman.  She ignored them both, and turned to a nearby table.  She selected a knife from some tray Napoleon couldn’t see and didn’t want to think about, and turned to him with a feral smile. 

He felt his stomach drop.  Only years of practice kept the annoyingly fake smile plastered on his face, even as she sauntered over to him, now brandishing the flashing knife. 

“You, on the other hand,” She said, sitting down on his lap, “Are _going_ to talk,”

“And what makes you think that?” he said, glancing quickly at Illya.  Still breathing. 

She shifted so that he couldn’t see Illya anymore; then violently stabbed the knife into the arm of the chair, just inches from his arm.  On instinct, he jumped, and she smiled at him.  “Because you’re obviously the weakest link in your annoying little trio,”

She pulled the knife free and brought it close to his cheek, “and it would be a real shame if something were to happen to that pretty face of yours,”

At this point, she was so close to Napoleon that he could feel her hot breath on his face.  A new sheen a sweat began to form on his brow as she slowly brought the knife to his cheek. 

Behind her, Illya continued to pull on his bonds, trying his hardest to pull her attention back to him.  She barely batted an eyelash, before a henchman came stepped into Napoleon’s limited line of sight and started towards Illya. 

The man, who Napoleon now recognized as the one that tackled him in the alley, put a gun to Illya’s head.  His body stilled, but the fiery rage building up in his eyes still burned. 

“I’ve got to say, you are making a very big mistake here,” Napoleon said, eyeing the knife that was ghosting over his skin menacingly. 

She didn’t even dignifying him with a response, striking with terrifying speed. 

It took a second for Napoleon to register that he had been stabbed.  He had been paying so much attention to the knife grazing his cheek that he hadn’t noticed the blade in her other hand.  He looked over now and saw it embedded in his hand, and was suddenly hit by a wave of pain. 

Blood oozed through the wound and started to stain his muddy shirtsleeve.   He gritted his teeth together, as a pained groan escaped his lips. 

“You haven’t even asked me a question,” he hissed, his head bent over as much as the restraints would allow. 

She clucked at him, and raised his chin back up.  “Oh Napoleon,” he winced again, “You’re going to have to be a little more patient first,”

With a furtive glance at Illya, _still breathing_ , Napoleon gripped the arms of the chair even harder and managed to spit out, “I’ve always been a very patient person,”

She huffed at him and pulled the knife free from his hand in one swift, painful move. 

The blade was tossed aside, and she took his throat in her now free hand.  Her grip was painfully strong, and he could feel his lungs begin to burn. 

She moved her face in close again, while readjusting her position on his lap.  “Now, Napoleon,” Illya jerked violently in his seat as she spoke, “Where shall we start?”

She moved the knife to points on his face, an unsettling look on her face.  With a sudden flick of the wrist, she made a small but painful cut above his eyebrow.  He flinched away from her, as blood began to pool above his eye. 

She snickered and continued to size him up like a piece of meat.  By her forth of fifth quick slice at him, Napoleon was able to move his head away enough so that he could catch another glimpse of Illya, but the sight only added to his terror. 

The Russian was still breathing but he seemed to be deteriorating very quickly.  His skin was ashen, the shadows of his face growing more pronounced and harsh as he became paler, and his hands were shaking.  Napoleon knew that it was very bad sign that shock had started to set in, and he began to pray just a little harder for Gaby to show up soon. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand grabbing his hair and yanking him back.  “Look at me,” She said, her voice becoming hard and demanding, “and tell me who you are working for,”

Napoleon pretended to consider it for a second, then spit some blood on her nice suit.  She jumped back and gasped at him.  “Fine,” She said, taking off the offending jacket, and throwing it on the floor, “We’ll do this the hard way,”

As she approached him again, she brought the knife to his ear and began applying pressure.  “Tell me who you work for right now,” she hissed in his face, “or I’ll take your whole damn ear off,”

Napoleon looked in her eyes, and knew that she wasn’t bluffing.  The panic that had been building in his chest reached a new peak and he could feel his breath coming in short, painful bursts. 

“Well?” She asked, pulling the knife close enough to draw blood. 

He glanced across the room one more time, just to be sure, and even through the haze of blood and hair in his eyes, he could still see Illya’s chest moving up and down.  _Still breathi-_

With a start, Napoleon realized that Illya was shaking.  His whole body, not just his hands, was shuddering violently.  There was a bright sheen of sweat on his face and his chest heaved.  Napoleon’s own heart began to speed up as he realized that he was probably going to have to watch his best friend, the man he cared about more than anyone else, die right in front of him. 

The man holding the gun to Illya’s head turned to her with an uncertain look.  “I think he’s having some kind of seizure,” he said, though he didn’t dare move until he was told. 

The woman sighed.  “That’s unfortunate,” she huffed, annoyed that she was being interrupted, “Just shoot him then, and dispose of the body,”

They say that your life flashes before your eyes right before you die.  Napoleon had nearly died a number of times and had never seen anything.

 Yet, for some reason he couldn’t comprehend, this time was different.  As he sat there, a knife inches from his face and his best friend about to die, he finally saw something. 

The memory of Illya, standing in his hotel room and looking adorably uncomfortable in an expensive suit suddenly came to mind.  It was followed by the day they spent tailing someone through the Guggenheim and he got to point out his favorite paintings to the Russian, who listened to it all and smiled at him. 

They were followed by other memories, more than Napoleon even realized he had stored away.  _Huh_ , Napoleon thought, as the images continued to spin past his spotty vision, _this is new._

The thug cocked his gun and placed it back against Illya’s temple. 

Ice sank into Napoleon’s veins. 

At the last moment, Illya seemed to calm himself.  He stopped shaking and looked directly at the man about to kill him.  His bared his teeth, stained red with blood, and his bright blue eyes seemed to glaze over with something darker. 

Napoleon breathed in.  

With a feral growl, Illya ripped his arms free of the restraints.  The chair broke apart with a resounding crack as he leaped directly at the man, his hands extending towards the thug’s face. 

It all happened so quickly that Illya had already pinned him down before the woman could even stand up. 

Shocked, she began to advance on him with her knife.  But when Illya raised his head and looked at her, she dropped it and let out a piercing scream. 

She stumbled backwards into Napoleon and the chair tipped over, pulling him down with it.  His head banged against the hard floor.  He laid there for a moment, his whole body in pain, before his surroundings came filtering back. 

Napoleon could only really see the ceiling, but the sounds were enough.  Gun shots rang in his ears, interspersed with terrifying growls. 

A man was thrown back over his chair and landed behind him in a bloody pile.  Another crawled into his line of sight clutched what was left of his arm close to his chest. 

Napoleon had no idea what was happening.  His system flooded with adrenaline and his heart pumping into overdrive, the one thing he was sure of was that he had to grab Illya and get out of here. 

There was another crash and the table was thrown against the wall next to him, its tray of knives and pliers clattering to the floor.

Napoleon saw his chance.  With a groan he toppled his chair onto its side and tried to reach for the nearest knife while the terrifying commotion on the other side of the room continued. 

His fingers brushed against the handle, spinning it even farther from his grasp.  He cursed under his breath and fought the pain in his bruised ribs and tried to shift the chair again. 

Another staccato burst of gunfire went off behind him, and one of the bullets grazed his upper leg.  He yelled in pain and surprise, his outcry echoed by whoever sent off the shots. 

His breath hissed through his teeth as he tried to make his body smaller and less likely to draw the attention of whatever had been ripping limbs off of the guards.  His pulse roared in his ears.  With a jolt he realized that the only other sound he could hear was some ragged breaths above him. 

Something wet and sticky dripped onto his cheek. 

Slowly, with the terror in his chest compounding by the second, Napoleon turned his head to look up. 

There was a huge set of razor-sharp teeth just inches above his nose.  Gristle and blood hung in ropey strands from the fangs of the largest wolf Napoleon had ever seen. 

He froze. 

Interestingly, the wolf did the same thing. 

For the briefest of moments, the only thing filling the space between them was their heavy breathing and the smell of blood.  Napoleon never took his eyes off of it, even has its hot breath blew across his face. 

In that moment, Napoleon suddenly felt inexplicable tired.   The single thought that ran through his head as he felt himself relax into the idea of breathing his last breath, was a distant hope that Gaby might still be able to save Illya. 

He closed his eyes. 

The wolf growled.  The deep, dark sound reverberated around the room. 

He took a breath. 

Then another. 

After a moment that seemed to last hours, Napoleon opened one of his eyes and squinted up at the wolf.  Something had changed.  All the anger had leeched from its system, and it was just standing over him, breathing shakily. 

He looked up at it, and noticed for the first time the scar running down the side of its face.  It was a jagged mark right next to the wolf’s eye.

Napoleon blinked.  It looked identical to the scar next to Illya’s eye, the one that he had spent far too much time looking at.  The sight of it inexplicable calmed him down. 

He paused and watched as the wolf began to limp around the chair he was still tied to.  Napoleon could see that it had taken some real damage in its side.  He stayed very still as it sniffed around him and eventually nuzzled the knife towards his hand. 

Napoleon didn’t take his eyes off the wolf as it took another step away and looked at him expectantly.  After a moment of fumbling, he got a hold on the knife.  His first hand came free, followed quickly by the next, and soon he was pulling himself into a seated position facing the wolf. 

He didn’t drop the knife, but stuffed it into his pocket, within easy reaching distance.  The wolf seemed almost offended by this, but Napoleon didn’t let that bother him.  He’d just seen it kill half-dozen men; he was keeping the knife. 

The wolf stared at him, as he watched it curiously.  Once it became obvious that it wasn’t going to move anytime soon, Napoleon stood and looked around him. 

The room was a mess.  But, no matter where he looked, he couldn’t find Illya.  He let out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding.  Maybe Illya made it out in the confusion.  Maybe he had already found Gaby and was being whisked off to medical. 

Or, his brain unhelpfully supplied, that Illya had only been pulled off into some greater danger.  Napoleon forced himself to focus on the moment, even as his thoughts of Illya continued to stick in his head. 

Off to one side, he could make out the form of the woman who had captured them.  He grimaced.  “Guess you really didn’t like her,” he said, glancing at the wolf. 

Napoleon grabbed a nearby rag and wrapped it around his hand as he formulated a plan.  He had no idea where he was, but he knew that he couldn’t stay in this room.  He had to get out here.  He had to find Illya. 

And he had to get rid of this wolf. 

He looked at it and got the distinct impression that it was watching him too.  With a shrug, Napoleon grabbed a gun off of a dead guard and made his way out of the room.

When he made it to the end of the hallway, he stopped.  After carefully glancing around the corner and checking for any signs of other people he felt something brush against his leg.  He jumped a little and looked down to see the wolf walking past him. 

After taking a few tired steps down another hall, it turned around and looked at him.  He stared at it, dumbstruck, and if he hadn’t known any better, he would have though it rolled its eyes at him.  _I must have really hit my head._

The wolf ignored this and continued down the hall, its ears swiveling to pick up on the sounds of any guards.  Napoleon skeptically watched it walk away from him. 

After another glance around to make sure he wasn’t really going crazy, Napoleon started cautiously following it.  He didn’t have any other kind of plan, so he might as well. 

At each turn, the wolf would pause for a minute then sniff the air and start down another hall.  To Napoleon each path looked the same, and he was soon lost in the maze of concrete. 

It wasn’t long before they came across some thugs, but the wolf heard them way before they came into sight.  The hair on his back rose and it looked at Napoleon.  He looked at it confusedly, but stepped into a nearby closet anyway.  Mere moments later, a large group of guards ran past. 

Napoleon looked at the wolf again, surprised.  It had probably just saved his life. 

They continued like this, the wolf leading the way and alerting him to danger.  They had to avoid all the main halls and stick to a winding and indirect route.  As they continued to move, at a terribly slow pace to make sure that the coast was clear, Napoleon began to realize just how injured the wolf was. 

“Hey, stop,” he said, stepping in front of it, “Woah there, or whatever,”

He got down on his knees in front of it and carefully reached towards it.  “Now, do not, under any circumstances, bite me,”

It watched him as he carefully examined the wound in its side.  The fur was matted with blood, but he could still make out a gunshot.  “Well, it looks really bad,” Napoleon said, “But I’m sure you already knew that,”

It blew out air through its nose.  Napoleon raised an eyebrow. 

“Did you really just snort at me?”

It shook its head from side to side and looked away. 

Napoleon blinked.  It was obvious that either the blood loss or the trauma was getting to him; there was absolutely no way that he was having a conversation with a _wolf_. 

He tore a piece from his already ruined shirt and attempted to make a bandage.  The wolf didn’t so much as make a sound. 

With a shrug, Napoleon stood again.  “Well, this is going to have to work for now,”

By the time they finally reached the stairwell that led to the ground level, Napoleon had started talking to the wolf in earnest.  He had given up on the nerve wracking silence, and the wolf had proven to be a good listener. 

“…that was of course when Illya realized that I already knew how to speak Russian,” Napoleon said, looking up the stairs for any enemies, “and he started blushing like I have never seen before.  It really was quiet adorable,”

The wolf started limping up the stairs.   Napoleon watched it struggle for a moment, then sighed.  “Come here,”

He was dealing with his own injuries and the wolf was really way bigger than it had any right to be, but he still managed to somehow help it up.  It struggled in his arms for a minute then seemed to give in to the fact that this was happening. 

It snorted again, but let him half-carry it up the stairs.  It was slow going so Napoleon started talking again. 

“I bet you would like Illya,” He said, “He’s just as stubborn as you,” He stumbled a little, and added, “and just as large,”

The mentions and stories of Illya brought all of his worries coming back. 

“God I hope he’s okay,” Napoleon barely whispered, not really expecting the phrase to actually leave his mouth.  He’d trained himself a long time ago how to avoid being affected by messy thoughts like that. 

Every time he let himself begin to _care_ , someone ended up hurt.  “Too late,” he mumbled.  The wolf looked at him, but he ignored it.  “You don’t want to know my sob story trust me,”

Finally they reached wherever the wolf had been leading him.  With a shove he pushed open the door and found himself standing on a roof-top helicopter pad.  He looked over around incredulously.  “How they hell did you know how to get me to the extraction point?”

The wolf just laid down and started panting.  Napoleon stared at it, and shook his head. 

“Well, thanks, I guess,” He said, as he started for the door again, “But, now that I know where the exit is, I have to find Illya,”

He grabbed the handle and pulled; nothing happened.  He grunted in frustration and pulled on it harder.  He tried the other door, his motions getting more frantic with each failed attempt. 

He was locked out. 

With a glance around, he realized that he was stranded, with no way of trying to find Illya, no way to make sure he was still alive. 

He turned on the wolf angrily.  “Look what you did!” he yelled, waving his hands at it, “Illya’s going to die alone, and it’s all my fault, because I followed a dumb dog around all night!” He slammed his whole body, already in pain, at the door, but it barely moved. 

He groaned and slid down to the ground, and put his head in his hands. 

The wolf got up, walked over and nuzzled against his hand.  He looked up at it and sighed sadly. 

“Every time,” he said softly, petting the wolf absentmindedly. 

He blinked back tears that threatened to break through his practice exterior. 

“Everyone I ever love ends up heartbroken or dead,”

The wolf froze, but he didn’t even notice.  He had stopped paying attention to anything outside of his own thoughts. 

“And Illya…” he couldn’t even begin to explain what he was feeling.  No matter how many people he had to lose, he’d never been able to get used to this.  He rubbed his temple, trying to contain the things threatening to explode in his head.  “I love him,”

“He-” Now that he had started, he couldn’t stop, “he’s so _nice_.  It sounds so petty, but hey,” he laughed bitterly, “I’m a petty piece of shit,”

He’d given up on his tears at this point, and they splashed down his cheeks.  “Maybe it all worked out for the best after all,” he rubbed at his wet eyes and let out a strangled noise, “He got to live his life free of my fucked up emotional baggage.  He was too good to deserve that,”

Napoleon put his head back against the rough wall and stared up at the stars.  For the first time he realized how cold it was, the wind whipping around him in the open space. 

“I just wish I could have said goodbye,”

A gunshot split the air and pulled him from his thoughts.  He stood up quickly, but had to grab the wall for balance.  Before he could really react, the doors burst open and a guard was pointing a gun at him. 

“Don’t move!” He shouted at Napoleon, who barely had time to put his hands up before a second guard stormed out.  The new one saw the wolf, which was backed up against the wall a few feet from him.  It growled as the thug pulled a knife. 

“Hey, don’t touch it,” Napoleon said, letting himself get frisked as he stood with his hands on his head. 

The guard glanced at him once and shook his head with an evil grimace, before advancing on the wolf.  Napoleon barely thought before he reacted. 

In a swift, practiced motion, he hit the guard near him and knocked him to the ground.  The wolf took this opportunity to jump on the man in front of him.  Napoleon slammed the man he had been dealing with into the ground and knocked him out. That’s when he heard it.

There was a sharp yelp behind him, and when he turned around he saw that the man had managed to cut the wolf along its shoulder.

Napoleon lost track of what really happened after that for a few moments, but he was soon standing over a man with a snapped neck. 

He turned back to the wolf and crouched down next to it.  “Please don’t die on me too, that would be a really shitty thing for you to do right now,” It was too difficult for him to tell how bad the cut really was, but it was obvious that the wolf’s breathing was growing more labored. 

Napoleon swore under his breath and began to apply pressure as best he could.  The wolf whimpered quietly but still let him do it. 

When he began to pet it softly, he noticed the scar again.  It really was an uncanny how much it looked like Illya’s.

The wolf looked up at him as he patted its nose carefully, and Napoleon couldn’t help but look at the eyes regarding him so sadly.  They looked just like Illya’s. 

Napoleon paused. 

Maybe it was the head trauma, or maybe it was the emotional drain, but it took him a very long time to actually react.

He took his hands off of the wolf and stepped back slowly.  He regarded it for a moment then asked, in a voice so unsure that it was barely audible, “Illya?”

The wolf looked away from him.  After a moment, a pause filled with nothing but the wind around them, it stood up. 

The change was very slow at first, almost like it was just shifting position.  But it sped up very quickly.  Napoleon couldn’t seem to look away, no matter how unsettling the entire situation was. 

Before he could even fully process what had happened, Illya was standing in front of him, looking basically the same as he did before.  He bowed his head and refused to look Napoleon in the eye. 

Napoleon began to open his mouth to speak when the whirr of helicopter blades filled the night air. 

They turned and squinting into the headlights of an UNCLE helicopter as it rose into view.  Gaby was practically hanging out of the door and yelling at them, but neither could make out her words. 

Napoleon stepped right up into the craft, already knowing that Illya was right behind him.

Once they were in the air, he risked a glance towards Illya, who was being looked over by a doctor while Gaby watched them carefully.  Their eyes met for barely two second, before Illya looked away. 

Napoleon was still reeling from what he had seen but nothing could keep the small flutter of pure joy that he felt when he realized that no matter what had happened or what it meant, _Illya was still breathing._

Even if they never worked together again, or if what had happened ruined their friendship, it didn’t matter.  _Illya was going to be okay._  

\-- -- --

When they reached the UNCLE medical center, Illya was whisked off to surgery.  Napoleon watched him go as a nurse tugged him into another room. 

Gaby sat with him as the nurse checked out his head and stitched up his various cuts.  Napoleon took comfort in how normal this was, Gaby talking nearby to distract him while someone took care of his scrapes. 

“Nothing too bad this time Mr. Solo,” The nurse said, giving him a warm smile.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered having met her before.  He flirted with her.  Today he only gave her a weak smile. 

Gaby helped him to a bed, chewing her lip nervously.  “Are you sure you’re okay Napoleon?”

He waved her off.  “I’m just tired,” He knew that it didn’t fool her, she knew him too well for that, but thankfully she didn’t press any further.  He had no idea what else to say. 

“Do you want me to wake you up when Illya gets out of surgery?” She asked.  It was normally a formality; he always wanted to be there for Illya.

He paused, and everything that had happened raced through his head for the millionth time.  He had no idea what he should say, no idea what they was supposed to do now.  Not only had he just accidentally confessed his love, but it turns out that the man he cared about so much was-

Napoleon didn’t even know what he was anymore.  The phrase “barely human,” bitter words that had been eating him up for so long, appeared in his mind unbidden.  He pushed them away.  Illya was something he couldn’t describe, but he was still _Illya_.

He finally shook his head.  “No, I think it would be better if he just rested,”

Gaby tried to cover her reaction, but he could see the way her eyes widened.  Instead of face her questions and concern, Napoleon just rolled over and said, “I want to get some sleep if you don’t mind,”

She put a hand reassuringly on his shoulder.  The contact felt good, not that he would ever admit that, but it was fleeting.  Too soon she was quietly closing the door and leaving him alone. 

Sleep began to tug at him, and he suddenly realized how tired he actually was.  Too many things had happened in too little time and he was ready to just shut down and not think for a while. 

As his limbs grew heavy and his eyelids drooped, Napoleon felt a tear fell onto the pillow. 

\-- -- --

After a being looked over one more time, Napoleon was eventually released the next day, with a promise from Waverly that he wouldn’t have any new cases until he was fully recovered.  He signed the last form and handed the papers back to the nurse, avoiding Gaby’s searching gaze.

He still hadn’t seen Illya and she knew it.  He stepped away from the desk and started towards the door, but Gaby followed at his heels.  As soon as they stepped outside, she blocked his path and pointed a slender figure at him.

“What the hell happened between you two?” She asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

Napoleon considered lying, but knew it would be useless. 

“It’s really not my story to tell,” he said, sidestepping her and continuing towards his waiting car. 

She didn’t follow him.  Instead she stared after him, hands on her hips. 

“He’s asking for you,” she said, her voice carrying over the empty parking lot.  Napoleon froze, but didn’t let himself turn around.  If he saw how confused and hurt she was, he knew he would end up doing anything she asked. 

“He doesn’t need me,” he said over his shoulder as he started walking again. 

Gaby didn’t respond, but he could still see her in the rearview mirror as he drove away.  Even in the small, distorted image, he could tell she looked disappointed.

 _Every time._  

\-- -- --

His apartment seemed overly quiet after the constant hustle and bustle of the hospital, but he welcomed it, at first anyway. 

He’d never visited Illya in the hospital, but Gaby called every day.  She said that he was doing well, and that they were probably going to let him out soon.  Before long it would be time for them to get back into the field.

The thought made him glance at the photo on his small mantel.  It was from one of their rare days off in Venice.  Gaby looked radiant as always, while Illya was trying to hide his smile behind his glass while leaning into Napoleon slightly.  They were happy. 

Napoleon forced himself to look away.  He sat back down at the table and tried to focus on his transfer papers. 

He’d barely picked up his pen when there was a knock at his door.  He got up and walked over, glad for a break from the painful work. 

His mood fell when he opened the door and saw who was on the other side. 

Illya stared down at him. 

Neither of them moved, and the awkward moment dragged on.  After staring at the other man for longer than he should have, Napoleon cleared his throat and gestured for Illya to come in. 

Illya began to step towards his normal seat, but stopped himself.  After a moment of hesitation, he just stood next to the couch and looked at Napoleon.  “I have something I need to say,”

With a nod, Napoleon watched the Russian play nervously with the hem of his jacket.  The sight was eating him up in the inside, so he walked briskly into the kitchen and started making some tea. 

Illya followed him, and was now standing in the doorway, half-watching him fill the kettle and half staring at his shoes. 

“If you never want to see me again,” Illya started, his voice heavy, “That is okay.  I understand,”

Napoleon didn’t respond, he wasn’t totally sure how, and just continued to silently pull their mugs off of the shelf. 

“It’s happened before, with other KGB partners,” Illya continued, “and every time, they asked for a transfer or they moved away.  I tried so hard to make this time different, but…” he trailed off for a moment, and the words left unsaid hung in the air between them. 

“You matter to me Napoleon…I would give anything for things-” Illya’s words caught in his throat, even thought they were obviously rehearsed, “for _me_ to be different.  But, it’s too late for that,”

“And,” he continued, without knowing that his every word was like a pin in Napoleon’s heart, “it’s obvious that what you said, that night, is no longer true,”

Napoleon stopped what he was doing and placed both his hands on the counter, his muscles tense.  There was nothing farther from the truth.  No matter how many times he tried to wrap his head around what happened, that was still the one thing that rang true as a bell. 

He loved Illya with his whole being. 

Napoleon could feel the Russian’s stare burning into his back, so he turned around.  The sight of Illya looking so helpless made him weak.  He wanted nothing more than to run to him, to reassure him. 

But they continued to stand, staring at each other, from opposite sides of his tiny kitchen.  The whistle on his kettle started to sound. 

“What does any of it even mean?” Napoleon said, turning away again to pour out the hot water, “What-” he hated putting it like this; it felt like he was stabbing himself in the side, “ _What are you?”_

Illya’s jaw twitched.  Napoleon pretended not to notice. 

“I’m-” Illya started, searching for the words, “I don’t even know.  It started when I was a teenager,”

“The episodes,” Napoleon said softly, as realization dawned on him. 

With a small nod, Illya continued, “I got better at controlling it over time, but sometimes…”

“That is why the KGB recruited me,” something darker flashed across his eyes at the memory, “They heard of a monster child from a country village, and decided that it would make a wonderful weapon, if,” his voice hitched, “it was trained _properly_ ,”

“Don’t say that,” Napoleon said, catching both himself and Illya off guard. 

“What,”

“Don’t call yourself an ‘it,’” Napoleon said, a conviction in his voice that shocked even him.  He ground his teeth together and looked Illya in the face.  “You deserve so much better than that,”

Illya stared at him for a moment, before his face began to crumble. 

Napoleon took the few steps necessary to bring them together before he could stop himself and soon he was staring up into Illya’s watering eyes.  Illya’s hands shook as they found Napoleon’s shoulders and pulled him closer. 

They wrapped their arms around each other and held on like it was the only thing keeping them upright.  Napoleon could feel the tension in his back and neck release as he melted into Illya’s chest. 

Illya buried his face in Napoleon’s hair and mumbled something. 

“What?” Napoleon asked, pulling away so he could look at him. 

“I love you,”

Those three little words shattered Napoleon’s already fragile state.  He grabbed Illya and pulled him down, smashing their mouths together.  Illya was caught off guard for a moment, but he soon tangled his hands in Napoleon’s hair and kissed back with a passion that had been building for way too long. 

Napoleon opened his mouth slightly and Illya wasted no time in deepening the kiss, his tongue licking its way into Napoleon’s mouth. 

His hands moved to Illya’s back and grabbed onto his shirt, keeping him as close as possible, as close as he had dreamed about.  Illya’s lips tasted of salty tears, but Napoleon couldn’t care less.   

“God I love you,” Illya mumbled as he pressed wet kissed along the curve of Napoleon’s jaw.  “I never thought, in a million years…but then when you said-”

Napoleon hummed, as he buried his face in Illya’s neck.  “I know, I know,”

He pulled away slightly, even though all he wanted was to stay flush against Illya.  What he had to say was too important.

Napoleon met Illya’s eyes, “I’m so sorry,” Illya tenderly took his face in his hands, “I wanted more than anything to visit you, to be there for you, to make sure you were okay, but I just,” He chewed his lip in an attempt to keep his voice steady, “I didn’t know what to do, so I ran,”

“You-” Illya look like he was ready to fall apart, and his voice was quiet with disbelief, “You weren’t scared of me?”

Napoleon’s heart broke when he realized how it must have looked, what Illya must have thought.  He shook his head as violently as he could with Illya’s hands holding him. 

“No, no,” he said, his voice thick, “I never stopped caring about you for a single second,”

He grabbed hold of the front of Illya’s shirt and pulled him into another loving, deep kiss.  “I’m so sorry,” he desperately said into the other man’s lips. 

“It’s okay,” Illya said, running his hands through Napoleon’s curls, “Of course, I forgive you,” Illya took Napoleon by the shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes. “And don’t you ever say something else about being not good enough for me,”

Napoleon gasped a little at the words, and stood on his toes so that he could rest his forehead against Illya’s.  He closed his eyes and almost laughed with joy as relief flooded his system. 

Everything was going to be okay.  They were okay.

He brought his lips up to meet Illya’s again and smiled as they kissed.  It was slower this time, more grateful and happy then desperate and heated.  He enjoyed it just as much. 

Later, as they stood watching Napoleon’s transfer papers burn up in the grate, Illya took Napoleon’s hand and kissed it gingerly. 

“I know that it is going to be difficult to get used to the idea of me, being like this, but-”

Napoleon quickly turned to Illya, but he continued talking anyway. 

“But I understand.  It took me a very long time to accept who I was,”

Napoleon couldn’t decide what made him more upset, the idea of a young Illya struggling to understand what was happening to him, or the fact that Illya didn’t seem to realize how unconditionally and totally Napoleon loved him. 

He slowly took both of Illya’s hands in his, “You have nothing to worry about,”

“I trust you,” Illya said warmly.  Somehow these words affected him just as much as another confession of love, and Napoleon could feel a wide smile spreading across his face.    

Illya mirrored the action and leaned in to kiss him again.  It was addicting. 

When they drew apart, Napoleon took in the sight of the Illya, his kiss-swollen lips and mussed hair, looking beautiful in the firelight.  How anyone could ever see this man as anything less than beautiful was beyond him. 

Napoleon reached up and brushed some of Illya’s hair out of his face, his hand trailing down until it cupped his face. 

“I trust you too, of course,”

Illya brilliant smile put the sun to shame, not that Napoleon cared about the sun.  As long as he could have this perfect man near him, he didn’t feel the need to go outside. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Napoleon saw his record player across the room. He grinned and pulled Illya over to it, their hands never parting. 

Napoleon picked out a slow song, one of his favorites, and pulled Illya close to him. They didn’t bother with the proper dancing positions, but just wrapped their arms around each other as the soft music filled the room.

_The first time ever I saw your face_

_I thought the sun rose in your eyes_

_And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave..._

Napoleon rested his face against Illya’s chest and felt the Russian’s lips brush against the top of his head. Neither of them really led, they just swayed softly, content to simple be near each other. 

_And the first time ever I kissed your mouth_

_I felt the earth move in my hand..._

For the first time, in a really long time, Napoleon felt nothing but pure joy.  In the warm embrace of the man that he loved, he let himself give into it.  There would still be tough situations, moments that he didn’t know what to do with, especially with Illya’s condition.  But from now on, instead of running away, he would run right here, to the one place he felt safest: with Illya. 

_And the first time ever I lay with you_

_I felt your heart so close to mine_

_And I knew our joy would fill the earth_

_And last 'til the end of time, my love_

_And it would last 'til the end of time, my love_

**Author's Note:**

> The song they are dancing to at the end is "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" by Roberta Flack which is probably one of the most romantic songs ever.
> 
> [EDIT] There's now a sequel!


End file.
